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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535107" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Quicksand Years</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535107" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">QUICKSAND years that whirl me I know not whither,<br> Your schemes, politics, fail--lines give way--substances mock and<br> elude me;<br> Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possess'd Soul, eludes<br> not;<br> One's-self must never give way--that is the final substance--that out<br> of all is sure;<br> Out of politics, triumphs, battles, life--what at last finally<br> remains?<br> When shows break up, what but One's-Self is sure?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Walt+Whitman">Walt Whitman</a></strong></div>

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